


Hitting the Mark

by monimala



Series: You Can Always Go Downtown [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gap Filler, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6384970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can be read as a sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6361825">Taking the Shot</a> but can also stand alone as a gap filler for episode 2.10, "Man in a Box."</p><p> </p><p>  <i>It's hard and nasty and frantic.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hitting the Mark

There's a split second before he slams her to the ground where he thinks it's all going to happen again. Death in front of him that he can't stop. Another person who cares about him cut to ribbons. Then all he hears is gunfire. Bullets hitting plaster. Her whimpers as she buries her face in the floor, hiding her head under her arm. She's alive under him. Alive. Okay. Her hair in his mouth and her shoulders against his chest. Then he levers them them both up. Tells her to run. 

Down the hall. Fire stairs. Nothing fueling them but go and escape and now. They make it two blocks, maybe three, before she stumbles. Goddammit, Miss Page. He hauls her to her feet. His grip on her wrist is like a match on the side of its box. She cries out his name. Half in pain and half in relief. Maybe an extra half in lust. Need. Tension. Whatever this thing is between them. 

Before he knows it they're ducking between two buildings. Hands roaming everywhere. Checking for wounds. He already feels like shit. Looks it, too. Ain't nothing new to catalog. But she tries anyway, touching him with those clean little fingers. His touch isn't as innocent. He pats down her breasts and lingers. Grabs her hips and her tight butt. He can't hear much over the rush of blood in his ears. But he's still gonna wait for a yes. A sign. Another match to the flame. 

"Frank?" This time when she says his name, it's permission. And when she tilts her face up and kisses him, that's permission, too.

"Yes, Ma'am," he says before he unbuckles his pants.

It's hard and nasty and frantic. Getting into her clothes. Finding her wet. Still smelling gun oil and smoke as he presses her thighs apart and sinks into her. He licks the mole at the corner of her mouth. Tastes the blood on his own cracked lips.

It ain't romantic. It ain't kind. It's rutting knowing you were inches from dying. The only thing he can offer a woman anymore. And she takes it. All of it. Tugging at his hair. His ears. Going wild. Crying and cussing him out and sinking her teeth into his throat. Adding to the scars he'll never count. They grind into each other. Sticky and sweaty and dirty. When she goes over, it's like her whole body catches fire. So hot. Melting. Burning his cock until he can't do anything but shoot his load and go with her. 

Fuck, man. Fuck. 

He asks her for time while he's still half-buried in her sweet pussy. Leaning his forehead against hers. Breathing her in. Ass bared to anybody who wants to look into the alley. "Just a little time. Let me figure this out. The Blacksmith. All of it." 

Her eyes are huge. Glassy. Like one of Lisa's dolls. She nods. Clutches him. Lets go. Clutches him again. Shock. Yeah, of course. She just got shot at and then fucked raw against a wall. Her skin is ice-cold. He has ideas about how to warm her up, but no time to put them into action. It's too dangerous. And he can't be weighed down. No ties. No baggage. No matter how pretty she comes around his cock. They'll write this fuck off as a one-time thing. Adrenaline. Stress. A mistake. Something they had to get out of the way because it was too deep under the skin. 

Doesn't matter that he ate her out in that glorified closet next to the courtroom. That he fantasized about fingering her under the table with her boyfriend and the other lawyer—the good one—sitting right there, his hand squelching in her cunt while his case went to hell. She's not for him. He's not for her. 

They'll see the rest of it through. That's what matters. Because she says yes to him. To time. To putting her clothes to rights and filing away the fear and trusting him to do what he needs to do. 

He calls her Karen just once. She strokes his cheek just once, finding a spot that isn't bruised or shredded. It ain't romantic. It ain't kind. It's just how they're going to survive the shitstorm that's coming. 

As she walks away, he wonders if she'll shower before she goes to the cops. He hopes she doesn't. Frank's still enough of an idiot to want to stay with her a little bit longer. An idiot. A man. Human. 

That's not gonna last.


End file.
